


Memory

by KuraiOfAnagura



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:21:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21719221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuraiOfAnagura/pseuds/KuraiOfAnagura
Summary: “Victor has gone to seek love, which is, if they should find it, a useful tool.”“Love,” he repeated dully. “Love…” Yuri rolled the word over his tongue as if trying to taste it. His nose was scrunched before his eyes became steel. “Love doesn’t win you a gold medal. It only consoles you after you’ve been beaten to silver.”And it was that moment, when she also saw his strength, the same fire within. Their way lead to gold, paved by their own blood, the blood of his enemies and they would strike it.“I think you and I can come to an agreement, Yuri Plisetsky.”
Relationships: Lilia Baranovskaya & Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50
Collections: Bright Lights: A YOI Musical Zine





	Memory

**Author's Note:**

> My piece for the Bright Light's Yuri on Ice Musical zine!  
> I've been so happy to be casted as part of the crew! It was nearly a year ago that I was dancing through my parent's kitchen, because I received the confirmation mail at my dad's birthday party xD
> 
> I've applied with this idea and even though Cats is one of the most classical musicals of all time I was assigned to work with that piece!  
> When I read the call for application post I immeadiatly had this setting in my head!
> 
> I struggled through a constant earworm while working on this piece. Memory from the musical Cats is, in my oppinion, one of the most iconic musical melodies of all time. If you read the first words of italic blocks you may notice a hidden message ;)

**_Memory_ ** _. That was the title he’d handed in. The glide across the ice was a silent one, the audience around him, doused in darkness, only a whispering, invisible beast. He came to a stop on the pristine white surface, glittering in competition with his costume, way more elaborate than his usual Exhibition outfits. He was glittering, yes, as it was only fit for the white swan, for Odette. A role he’d never voluntarily played if it wasn’t for her. But he was no swan today. _

_ He’d seen the faces of his friends and competitors before he entered the rink, how Beka’s lips parted and how men and women alike stopped in their tracks. He was a thing of beauty, he knew it, of beauty and strength and exactly that what she wished for him to be. He used all the tools she gave him, burned himself down to ashes and rose again and again, born anew and better and more breathtaking than he ever was before. _

_ And stronger. And more fiery, a dangerous flame, reaching up to the very heights and taking what was rightfully his. All thanks to her. _

_ Yuri took a deep breath. _

_ He wouldn’t skate to Swan Lake tonight, no matter what the costume may imply. Another whisper rippled through the audience when the first notes of the familiar melody sang out of the speakers. _

\--

“Uhm,” Otabek hesitated for a moment before he handed Yuri a bag with several plastic containers inside. “I know it kinda makes you uncomfortable, but I couldn’t stop mom from preparing those for you.”

Yuri accepted the bag with a soft smile. It wasn’t the first time this happened and while Otabek was correct it didn’t mean he was not  _ not _ happy about it.

“I’m just not used to… it,” he voiced his opinion as he put the bag in his already dangerously overweight suitcase.

‘It’ being motherly love. When Yuri had visited Otabek for the first time at the age of 16 he’d shocked his back-then best friend with a sudden fit of shyness and insecurity as soon as he’d introduced him to his family. Yuri had gone through a period of growth back then and his height had shot up so fast, the rest of his body couldn’t follow suit and he’d looked painfully thin and gangly. Otabek’s mother, a mother of 6 children, had immediately decided to adopt him and had bestowed her concentrated motherhood upon him. Sadly though it scared Yuri deeply, who would excuse himself permanently, mumble shyly into his nonexistent beard and would downright avoid any of the Altins until Otabek offered they could always go to a hotel, if he didn’t like his family?

That had been the night for Yuri to tell him about the mother that had brought him into this world, but never bothered to stay in it for him. It brought the two closer together and Otabek asked his mother to tone it down a little; Yuri simply wasn’t used to having a mother or for somebody to care for him to that extent. Mama Altin tried her best… and failed miserably.

Today, four years later, they were boyfriends and Otabek didn’t live at home anymore, but whenever Yuri visited, they had to come over for dinner. Mama Altin insisted on this. She would demand of them to shatter their diet plans with her delicious home cooked meals and she never failed to slip them snacks. And she never forgot to load Yuri with pre-made meals for him to enjoy at home.

After landing in St. Petersburg Yuri collected his suitcase and took the metro back home. Other than his public persona might imply, Yuri was quite frugal with his spending habits; growing up in poverty with only his grandfather working his ass off to be able to pay for the heating bills during winter had ingrained that deeply. So he used public transportation whenever he could, he bought off-brand clothes that looked awesome, but were comparable cheap and he still lived with Lilia. Today he was able to admit that this last point, being able to move in with his ballet teacher and choreographer, has been the single best thing that happened to him apart from being scouted for the government program.

When he arrived at the old town house it was midnight, not a sound from the pavement. In the lamplight the withered leaves collect at his feet. And the wind begins to moan.

“Welcome home,” she greeted him, together with Potya, as he hauled his suitcase up the stairs. “I’ve bought that breakfast tea again. I know you used up the last bag before you left.”

“Thank you!” he called down the stairs and heard Potya’s little thumping sounds as she hopped up the stairs after him, eager to see what Yuri had brought with him.

It wasn’t until the next morning that he truly registered Lilia’s words from the day before. When the familiar blend of tea and sugar-reduced raspberry jam, made by his grandfather just for him with homegrown berries from their little fleck of garden behind the wind crooked house, hit his tongue. ‘Welcome home’ she’d said and yes, truly, Lilia’s home had also become Yuri’s home. And maybe she didn’t smother him with kisses and hugs like Mama Altin did, and maybe she drove him to the point of exhaustion, burning him whole to be born anew again and again for the ice. But Lilia was always there when he was at his lowest; she congratulated him on his wins and her honest praise felt more earned than the gold. She bought him his favorite tea and was there to welcome him in his home, which she’d opened up to him. Maybe, Yuri thought and felt himself blushing, he wasn’t as motherless as he’d thought he would be.

He went to take a shower and the music of his phone stopped for a mere second to inform him of an incoming message from Otabek, which was the only reason he heard the breaking of a cup in the kitchen.

Fueled by a sudden and unexplainable bottomless feeling in his gut, he shut off the water and tried to listen over his music for the rest of the house. When he slid into the kitchen still dripping wet, clutching his phone and o nly clad in one of Lilia’s ridiculous fluffy bathrobes he felt fear grabbing his heart. Lilia’s unmoving form laying on the tiled kitchen floor scared him more deeply than anything else he’d ever felt before.

\--

**_All_ ** _ he could feel was the music. The song sung of memories, every note bittersweet and full of melancholy. Yuri let his body skate on its own, knowing that his true feelings would show, yet another gift bestowed on him thanks through the sacrifices of blood and blisters, broken bones and open skin. _

_ True to the lyrics he let his mind wander, let memories unfold, and let them take over. _

\--

“An aneurism is just a bad coincidence, Madam Baranovskaya,” the doctor told them good natured, seemingly unfazed by the harsh twin stares of judgment coming from the bed. “You’re in a remarkable physical state, for a woman of your age, and we couldn’t find any genetic reasons. Think of it as a stroke of bad luck.”

“A woman my age,“ Lilia echoed and it dawned on the physician that he might’ve phrased this more carefully. “I’ve always made it my business to be responsible for my own luck, Doctor,” Lilia said icily and slowly. Her speech wasn’t affected as were her legs and arms, but Yuri still noticed how careful she weighed her words. “As well as the people I deem competent enough to work with. So, heed this as your only chance, Doctor, and answer me truthfully or be out of this door the very next moment: will I be able to dance again?”

“Well, he was an idiot anyway,” Yuri sighed as he let himself fall onto one of the visitor’s chairs after the Doctor had fled the room with tears in his eyes and his tail between his legs after being chewed down and spit out again by Lilia.

“I want you to call Alexander Petrovni from the Mariinsk, let him give you the name of the current physician of the house and arrange an appointment. There’s no way I can trust the judgment of these imbeciles.”

“Consider it done,” Yuri said and made a note in his phone. “I already called Georgi, he’ll come by this afternoon and help me to remove the furniture in the living room. Then I can wax the hardwood floor again and you can hold your lessons there.”

It had been a good idea, but Lilia’s nostrils flared and she sent him a furious look, full of fire and Yuri felt scorched. “You told Georgi?”

He held up his hands placantly, reminding her it was not him she was angry with, but the rest of the world. “I didn’t. I merely told him you wanted to convert the living room in a dance room.”

She appeared pacified by the explanation and let her gaze stray from him. Only to sour again as it fell on the wheelchair in the corner of the room.

Despite the loud ambulance that brought her and Yuri to the hospital, her breakdown hadn’t made it to the press and she was inclined to not inform anybody of her current state. Lilia had brought yet another nurse to tears when Yakov had showed up, being informed by the staff of the hospital as her past spouse. She’d thrown him and the nurse out as soon as they sat a foot into her room, spitting fire and venom at whoever dared to enter. Even bound to the bed Lilia Baranovskaya was a force to be reckoned with.

\--

**_Alone_ ** _ . He’d always been alone for so long. And it took him so long to realize that he truly wasn’t. Now it was the Gala of the Olympics and he was the shining victor, draped in laurels and gold and carved out of a diamond in the rough, with discipline and tears and too much blood. _

_ It had been a hard season, harder even with what was behind them. Caring for Lilia, who’d refused to accept anybody’s help but his, had been a strain on both of them. Potya, of all creatures, had been a soothing force as much as the red wine. _

_ “I do not know, which is the worse fate, Yuratchka,” she said in a voice so broken, Yuri would’ve unrooted the world in that moment to make it better for her. _

_ “Never reaching the height. Or falling down again. It’s a hybris and we know it and our only pay is pain.”  _

_ “I can smile at the old days,” she finished, not saying anything further. _

_ You’re not done, he thought, launching into a quad Axel. Look. This is your gold. This is your work. Without you, I would be nothing! _

\--

The training leading to the season was torture and he found himself falling headfirst into the cushions as soon as he entered his room at night. Guilt gnawed at him that he couldn’t be there for Lilia during the day, but she’d once again reminded him that her body was broken, but he still didn’t have any right to go against her orders. So he went to the rink, to the gym, he went to lunch with his fellow skaters and left her in the care of yet another nurse. This one had managed to stay for at least two weeks now and Yuri had hope.

He was woken up by music, Claire de lune, his sleepy mind supplied, gently filtering up from the ground floor. It was an odd mix out of curiosity and dread that compelled him to leave the bed despite the late hour. He didn’t need to worry about Potya, because she’d opted to sleep with Lilia most of the nights. If he were younger he would’ve been jealous. Today though he felt grateful.

The living room had been turned into a dance studio even before Lilia had come back home from the hospital. He’d moved the furnitures with Georgi, who’d thankfully hadn’t asked any questions and payed a company to wax the floor until it wasn’t distinguishable from their studio. There were only two mirrors next to the fireplace and no whole wall, but a barre was a barre no matter where he danced.

Yet tonight it wasn’t him standing at barre going through plie after plie, but Lilia. Shock forced him to stand stock still, she shouldn’t be able to stand at all, her physical therapy had started barely a week ago with refreshing the paralyzed muscles. 

But here she stood, the immobile leg as her standing one, the useless hand bound to the barre. Her other hand though executed the movements with her usual grace and beauty, so perfect Yuri never failed to gasp at the sight of it. It was painful to watch, how half of her body struggled what her mind and other side knew so well.

It wasn’t until her leg gave out and she tumbled down that he moved to her side. She startled a bit as he untied the mandage that bound her to the wood and crouched down to lift her up. Wordlessly she pointed towards the couch and he obliged, noticing how she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Practice is at 7. Don’t be late,” she said in a clear dismissal. He fled, his heart beating painfully at the defeat in her voice, as if she’d given up. It scared him deeply, the possibility of her leaving him, too.

\--

**_In_ ** _ his mind played pictures.He remembered their first lesson. She’d looked at his teeth, as if he were cattle at the market, estimating his value. He would show her what he’s worth. _

_ But one figure of her, one impossible gracefully extended arm and he knew he was worth shit. Yakov had always complained how he wasn’t respected, how Yuri walked over everybody on his way, not accepting guidance and help from anybody. _

_ That was true, but not the truth. _

_ Yuri respected one thing and that was strength. And when Lilia Baranovskaya showed him one arabesque he saw steel and fire, clad in the skin of a flower. And he could respect that. _

_ “Do you really think you can win against them?” She had asked him as he gasped for air. She drove him to his limits, breaking him to see what lies underneath. _

_ “Victor has gone to seek love, which is, if they should find it, a useful tool.” _

_ “Love,” he repeated dully. “Love…” Yuri rolled the word over his tongue as if trying to taste it. His nose was scrunched before his eyes became steel. “Love doesn’t win you a gold medal. It only consoles you after you’ve been beaten to silver.” _

_ And it was that moment, when she also saw his strength, the same fire within. Their way lead to gold, paved by their own blood, the blood of his enemies and they would strike it. _

_ “I think you and I can come to an agreement, Yuri Plisetsky.” _

\-- 

He hadn’t taken the metro this time. The team manager had payed for his taxi himself, balking at the idea that one of his gold medalists would use public transport with such a precious cargo.

He waved at the taxi driver, a man starstruck because he’d seen him on TV, before he turned and fished for his keys. He inserted the house key and paused, suddenly insecure if he should enter or not. He hoped he would be able to reach Lilia, but now that he was about to face her, he felt shy.

The choice was taken from him and the nurse opened the door. He was flabbergasted that it was the same as when he’d left. Potya appeared in the archway that lead to the dance room, tail held high and with a loud yowl in greeting for her favourite human.

“Yuri Plisetsky,” she called him and his spine went straight by the sound of her voice alone. “Come here.” He did as she commanded and took a place next to her on the sofa. Lilia handed him a cup of tea and he didn’t have to sniff it to know that it was his favourite blend, sweetened with his grandfather’s jam.

“I know what you did there.”

\--

**_The_ ** _ end of his routine was approaching, some part of his mind supplied, but it was a detached one. Far away and only whispering. _

_ The lyrics now sang of the morning, the dawn, the new sun. Maybe not a new beginning but acceptance and the chance to walk a different path but still going forward. _

_ “You have to burn yourself,” she’d told him. “To be born anew.” _

_ Sometimes though it’s not your choice to light yourself on fire. _

\--

“It’s so easy to leave me all alone in my memory, of my days in the sun,” she said and he wouldn’t know she was quoting his gala if he hadn’t heard it so many times already.

“No!” he answered, maybe a tad to loud, but she was never put off by his voice. “N-n-o, I mean… I-” Damn it, it was not like him to stutter. He stopped and sat even straighter than before.

“If you hadn’t taken me in, I would’ve never been able to beat Katsuki and Victor. I would have never made it through my growth spurt and I would not be the skater that I am today. My medals are yours as they are mine.” He weighed his next words carefully.

“You may never be able to dance like you did before. But that doesn’t mean I cannot do it for you.”

“You’d always hated to be called the second Nikiforov.”

“That’s because I’m nothing like Victor. I’m nobodies legacy. But I wouldn’t mind to be yours.”

“Very well,” was all she answered and at this moment he knew that all would be, indeed, well. 

\--

**_Moonlight_ ** _ coloured fabric clad his arms as they rose to his final pose. _

_ Please, he thought, see me. See what you’ve created. See what is rightfully your legacy. You made this possible. _

_ The audience around him roared like the beast it was and suddenly tha cold of the ice, the sweat on his temples and the tears in his eyes registered back to him. _

_ Yakov, for the first time since he knew his coach, had tears in his eyes and he knew there was so much more than he could comprehend. _

_ “She will understand,” was all he said to Yuri, but it couldn’t break through the mantle of melancholy he’d spun around himself. _

\--

“I’m rather surprised, to be honest,” she said and he could say from the twinkle in her eyes that she was about to joke. “I would’ve thought you’d don a real cat costume? I’m sure you would’ve done so during your first Olympics. With cat ears and whiskers and maybe even a tail?”

He had to snort undignified into his tea.

“Please,” he lamented. “First of all, I’m not 15 anymore. And most of all I have style. If I am to skate to Memory from Cats I do it with fashion and grace. After all,” he added as an afterthought and peeked sheepishly up from behind his hair.

“I learned from the best.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading till the end!  
> If you enjoyed it please leave a comment as it really makes my day \0/


End file.
